


Welcome to Benny's

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF
Genre: Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sloppy Seconds, Spitroasting, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: While giving a speech at a University in Boston, the main speaker is brutalized by two college students.
Relationships: Ben Shapiro/Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Welcome to Benny's

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t a statement on Ben Shapiro’s politics and should not be taken seriously. This is me finally getting why people write crack and shitpost explicit fanfiction. I think it goes without saying that I don’t condone or endorse sexual assault. I don’t wish any ill will against Shapiro. I wrote this not as revenge against him, but because I have no self-control.
> 
> Any corrections and suggestions are encouraged.

He felt a ‘happening’. Something that could only come around once a millennium. He lived his life in confusion before, but now it was all clear. Benjamin Shapiro had been born at the wrong time and in the wrong part of the country. Boston, one of the patriotic capitals of the American revolutionary spirit, felt more like his home than the dogmatic wasteland of California. He could see himself there in the 1700s, even as a footnote in a history book or a mention in an aristocrats memoir. He wanted the chance to spar with Thomas Paine, James Otis, and many more intellectual patriots of history. Men like him, the great providers and thinkers of western culture, could be free to pursue knowledge in every facet. He’d be appreciated, even revered. He wouldn’t be stuck fighting against the hard current of totalitarian banshees of the 21st century. The politically correct tape, surrounding what could be the moral saving grace of America, kept her from any meaningful advancement. He talked reverently about this invisible silencer- the proverbial gun held to every man and woman’s head as they went on about daily life. In the classroom and in workplaces, a battle to be won. A battle of logic and reason against the opium of ignorance. He made it a point to talk at colleges. He wanted to change the minds of the youth - the rich soil of America's future. He wanted to plant a seed that would grow like weeds and snuff out any opposition. He wanted to cut down the tallest poppies and replace them with something he could recognize.

The roots of his speech to East Boston University, in the H.B.Hayes building, applied to what he believed was poisoning America. The speech was titled “Acceptance and It’s Danger According to Kant”. He commanded a great ship, the Enlightenment S.S. Guiding her against the currents and past the sirens songs of idiocy. His magnum opus was quickly derailed in the question and answer portion of his talk at the HBH. A college girl in her early twenties spoke, “What does cultural Marxism have to do with my boyfriend’s vagina?” It elicited laughs from some of her fellow degenerates in the crowd. The question brought a blotched red to his neck. _The fuck is she doing._ He thought. _Why do these dumb cunts come into my speeches and ask dumb cunt questions?_ Unbeknownst to him, the woman who sneered at him with a sense of superiority had been looking forward to his speech for days. The question she brought to Ben after he explained the failings of identity politics had nothing to do with his speech. There was no play, no pretext, just nonsense. She had burned the strawman and tossed his charred remains out. She spoke something frivolous, unmeaning, and provoking to needle at him like a red hot pin. To her, she had responded to nonsense in kind. Her statement was nothing more than a way to get Ben to look at her. Acknowledge that his i'm-such-a-smart-boy bullshit did nothing but amuser her. For a moment, she felt like she had done the debaters equivalent of taking a steaming shit on Ben Shapiro’s chest. Just as quickly as that feeling came, it left. She saw next to her a man taking a video. She was no longer a trans-attracted heterosexual woman taking down the dog-whistling patriarchy but another “Ben Shapiro Owns the Libs” segment in a youtube compilation. She watched in horror as Ben leaned into his mic. Now came the thrashing. “What does marxism have to do with your boyfriend’s genitalia? Nothing, nothing at all, but this type of pouting- this nonsense spewed by leftists or so-called activists is exactly what makes it so hard to have a meaningful debate in this day and age. I don't believe Karl Marx was concerned with your boyfriend’s vagina as he was with destroying humanity's freedom and the freedom we enjoy under capitalism.” He paused for the excited whoops that came from the left of the audience. “I would love to talk about whatever failing socialist, neo-Marxist idea you have for America’s future, but I can’t do that when you’re spouting hysterical nonsense. Next question please, I’d like to have a serious- a serious debate.” The girl threw the mic to the side, a last fleeting attempt at power. The last gotcha she had before sitting down and blocking her face from the handful of amateur videographers. She was an example to any of the leftists that “triggering” Ben came with consequences. She put her hand in wasps nest expecting not to be stung.

Ben continued the Q&A without interruption. His followers, and only his followers, spoke. The air of immaturity lifted as they conversed about the danger Latina representation to the sanctity of American culture.

It was a rush to speak to have meaningful discourse. He gripped the steel edge of the podium he had causelessly leaned on before. Now was time for the swell, the height of every lecture. “Thank you to East Boston University for having me. If you want to continue this conversation there will be a table with locations for my East Coast tour.” He walked off the stage to rancorous applause that even the boos couldn’t sour. Aron placed a hand on his arm and lead his outside. As they walked Aron spoke, “There are these guys that want a few statements from you. Student journalists for the school’s conservative paper. I have to go with the others and head back to catch my flight. I’m dropping them at the hotel and I can't stay here for you.” Aron lied through his teeth. “It’s fine I can get a Lyft.” They shook hands in front of the building. Aron smiling, Ben looking past him into the boxwoods that surrounded the front of the building.

The interview was less of an interview and more of a meet and greet. All the student journalists, predominantly male, gathered around Ben towering over him in both stature and eagerness. Each with their own praise, identical talking points, and interchangeable opinions. He finished his interview and walked the brick path from the H.B. Hayes building to the main road. The sun had set a long time ago. Only the street lights and the quarter moon lit the campus. The tall shadows of trees, lamp lights, and littered the ground. Overlapping and intersecting his own shadow as it walked alongside him. Ben couldn't explain it but something wasn’t right. It was a deep gut feeling that out in the darkness, nested between every shadow, was something insidious. He opened his mouth letting words sit comfortably in the back of his throat. He wanted to ask, “Who’s there?’, but he didn’t like his skittishness, even in relative privacy, was repugnant. Instead, he walked faster hoping to outpace his bad feelings. The whish of his dress pants became a mocking voice. A sprite’s sound telling him to stop walking so fast and calm himself. “There is no bogeyman out to get you, Ben. It’s all bullshit and fairytales.” A hand placed itself on his shoulder. He froze and looked to it. It’s long fingers, short nails, and JV ring the size of a large pebble. The ring read 2017 on its thick silver band. “Your Ben Shapiro, right?” A blonde college kid, barely twenty, smiled at him. Ben looked up and then past him, straight into the eyes of another college student. The blonde student's friend had dark skin and curly hair faded on the sides. They both towered over Ben at six foot one.“ “I have a friend, Elliot. He's a really big fan. Me and Isaiah, we didn't go to your event but he did.” He bent down a little, eye to eye with Ben. “Could we get an autograph?” A wave of relief washed over him. The Lyft would be there in ten minutes. All he had to do was sign a paper and get to the main road at the end of the brick path. “I’d be happy to.” He put out his hand ready to receive a pen and paper. Isaiah smacked his forehead. “I forgot to bring anything, what about you Nate?” Nate shook his head. Ben looked at the lamppost between him and the main road. “Actually, we could just take a picture. You down Shapiro?” Nate put another hand on Ben’s shoulder and guided him to the side of the Legacy building. Nate said something about better lighting but Ben wasn’t listening. He just watched the glow of the lampost lessen till it was completely out of view. Nate bent down again with his palms fixed on his upper thighs, “You’re not going to freak out, right? Elliot is a huge fan.” Ben’s stomach began to warp and twist. They were going to beat the shit out of him. He was going to be on the front page mantelpiece of some internet publication. “How tall are you man?” Ben said nothing. Nate crushed Ben’s shoulder under his grip. He felt every muscle shift out of place and burn. A sickly feeling buoyed up from his stomach and stopped his throat. Nate tightened his grip till Ben bent over and water welled in his eyes. He was folding over like a bascule bridge. The fabric of Nate’s jeans scoured his kakis. Nate was a solid wall behind him and his cock, slowly becoming an erection, fit between the cleft of Ben’s rear end. Nate let out a satisfied sigh. Ben’s eyes frantically searched his surroundings looking for a person to cry out to. There was nothing but the wall, the faint light of the hidden street lamp, and Isaiah palming his cock only a spitting distance away. Nate ground into Ben. “Fuck dude.” He folded himself over him, his chest to his back, and thrust. He lifted him up with each motion. “Nate, he's the same height as your girlfriend.” Isaiah took a step forward. His erection straining under his cotton joggers, almost touching Ben’s nose. “No way,” Isaiah gripped his hair and pulled up his face. “Arin’s an inch taller than him for sure.” Ben wasn’t listening to their back and forth. The sound of a distant ocean, like white noise from a seashell, filled his ears. He didn’t speak or ask for mercy. If he did there was none to be spared.

The noise of Isaiah's zipper scratched its way into Ben’s brain till it burrowed a hole out the back of his skull. “Open up.” Isaiah flicked Ben’s right cheek red with the flat on his fingernail. Ben had let his jaw hang and Isaiah filled his mouth. He pushed in until he groaned. Spit pooled and peaked out the sides of Ben’s mouth. He had no place for his tongue. “How’s it feel?” Nate asked. Isaiah chuckled and grabbed Ben’s hair. He pulled back and then thrust forward. A memory pushed past the white noise of the sea waves in Ben’s head. He remembered years ago, as a child, his grandmother brushing his teeth. He was much too old for her help but she insisted. She took his jaw roughly in her hands and shoved the toothbrush far down his throat. It never touched his teeth. She scrubbed at the back of his tongue making his retch and gag. He spent the rest of the weekend visit avoiding her. Now, by the side of the Legacy building at East Boston University, the capital of the patriotic American sprit, he was getting his tongue cleaned again. Isaiah fucked into his throat not afraid of making him vomit. Ben couldn't even if he wanted to. He just gagged letting his upper body jerk against Nate while waves crash in his head.

Nate reached around, grazing a hand over Ben’s flaccid penis, and unbuckled his belt. It was a sharp metallic clink. It silenced the waves. The crickets, the hum of distant cars on the main road, and the sound of his wet mouth, all became real. Like black pillars rising from a waning tide, reality let itself be boldly known. Nate pushed Ben’s pants and briefs to his ankles and unbuckled his own pants. He spat on to Ben’s back and scraped up the wetness with his fingers. He then pushed them into Ben. Ben let out a noise deep from his lungs like that of a man beginning to die. A last healthful groan before his body withered. Nate pushed in deep, all the way to his knuckles, pulled out and pushed in another finger. He kept going until Ben’s muscles relaxed trying not to grip his fingers as they sodomized him. Nate stopped at a third finger and put his cock in instead. The blunt head pushed into Ben forcing him to relent. Ben cried out and placed his hands on Isaiah’s thighs. “Dude, He’s fucking tight.” Nate thrusted at the same pace as Isaiah trying to get Ben to relax and take him in fully. When he did, his cock completely sleeved, he pushed up against Ben’s prostate. Ben tightened around him, so he did it again and again, with the precision of someone with only four years of sexual experience. Reality was covered again, not by the sound of waves but by the slap of Nate’s skin to his. Every movement made him grip onto Nate. His own cock filled out and shook with each of Nate’s thrusts like an aluminum pole flag in strong wind. So soon after Ben’s shameful arousal, an event that he would purge from his mind, Nate emptied inside him. When he pulled out, his semen leaked from Ben and ran his leg. “Your turn.” Isiah pulled out of his mouth and switched positions with Nate. He put his thumb against Ben’s hole and pulled enough for Nate’s semen to stream out. He wiped up what was on his legs and pushed it back in. “You really like that shit, huh?” Isaiah penetrated him with little resistance. He put the weight of his palm on Ben’s tailbone. “Yeah, you know I love sloppy seconds.” Nate laughed, his soft cock in his hands. He stroked himself trying to get hard enough to fuck Ben’s mouth.

Isaiah was as gentle with Ben’s ass as he was with his mouth. Ben gripped on to his knees for purchase. He closed his eyes, too ashamed to look at his cock which was swollen, red, and neglected between his legs. His Lyft was probably already absent from the curb. No one waited for him at the end of the brick path. He couldn't let himself think about it, fearful he might cry or get the spirit to fight back in hopes of catching his long gone Lyft. He instead focused on not cumming. He was painfully close. He felt like a teenage jacking off till he got to the edge. Petrified that cumming would make god angry with him and that ejaculating would get him a ticket to hell. If he were to cum now, his jaw sore, his manhood being sodomized by college students, and a man vigorously trying to get hard in front of him, he couldn't forgive himself. He couldn’t look his wife in the eyes. Everything from then on would be tainted. “Isaiah, He’s so fucking hard.” Isaiah reached around and gripped his cock. “Holy shit,” he laughed. “You like getting fucked, Shapiro?” He placed both his hands on to his hips and thrust upwards into where he approximated his prostate to be. Ben didn't want to make a sound. He bit into his tongue till iron mixed with his spit. “I’m not going to- Nate, I’m close,” Isaiah slowed down, making each of his thrust deep and deliberate. “Double stuffed, or should I come on his back?” At first, Ben didn't know what happened. He clenched around Isaiah making it almost impossible for him to pull out. No had even touched his cock, yet he splattered on the concrete below him. It was a gift from God that they didn't say anything about it. Or really mercy from the devil who gripped his testicles and forced him to shoot in the first place. “Inside,” Nate said. He leaned against the brick building buckling his pants, resigned to his inability to get hard again. Isaiah gave a few hard thrusts before cumming inside Ben. He dressed himself and then Shapiro, in an unappreciated attempt at kindness. Shapiro’s head hung like a man at the gallows. “You're not going to be a dick about this right?” Nate asked. “Evan is a huge fan and I’m sure he would hate to hear that his favorite speaker fucked some dudes on campus.” Shapiro shook his head lamely, “I have to get to my Lyft.” and walked to the brick path.


End file.
